


it seems you're having some trouble in dealing with these changes

by Sway



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Canon Typical Swearing, Daddy Kink, Drug Withdrawal, M/M, Past Drug Addiction, Past Drug Use, but only touches of it, coloring book
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-03-07 08:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13430982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sway/pseuds/Sway
Summary: It's Tequila's antsiness that annoys Champ the most.As his agent goes through withdrawl, the head of Statesman goes for an alternative method of "therapy".





	it seems you're having some trouble in dealing with these changes

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know where this came from... And I have even less excuses...
> 
> This is also unbetad and posted from my phone, so... 
> 
> The title is from "down with the sickness" by Disturbed

It's Tequila's antsiness that annoys Champ the most.  
  
He can look past his vehement lack of formal attire. He can ignore him chewing gum in the most obnoxious way.  
  
What he cannot - and will not - accept is the constant movement.  
  
When Tequila is not fumbling with his glasses, it's his bolo. If he's not clicking his pen, he's tapping it on the desk. When he's not drumming some staccato rhythm on the tabletop, he's bouncing his knee, sending vibration through the entire wooden structure.  
  
"Your withdrawl's not going so well, is it, Agent Tequila." Champ doesn't make it a question, catching the agent off guard as he's about to leave the conference room.  
  
"Excuse me, Sir?"  
  
"You've got the jitters. And you've got them badly. And quite frankly, it's annoying the fuck out of me. I thought Ginger got you on some substitute prescription to get the drugs out of your system."  
  
Tequila lowers his head, running a finger along the rim of the hat in his hands. "She did, Sir. Said it was her last deed as our quartermaster. They just ain't helping."  
  
Champ sits back in his chair, giving the agent a once-over. “And what do you think would help?”  
  
“Getting back into the field, Sir. Doing what I do best. Might take my mind off things.”  
  
“You know that’s not going to happen while that horseshit’s still in your system. Can’t have you running around high as goddamn kite.”  
  
“I know but…”  
  
Champ holds up a hand. “You should’ve thought about that before doing anything other than Ginger’s fucking granola bars. I gave you a warning and another but you weren’t listening. Now you gotta face the repercussions.” He swiveled away from Tequila. “You’ll remain grounded.”  
  
“But, Sir, I…”  
  
“Enough. You’ll stay on site until you’re given the all-clear by medical. Am I clear?”  
  
Tequila nods, all but pouting.  
  
“Use your words, son.”  
  
“Yes, Sir.”  
  
“Good. You’re dismissed.”  
  
Tequila is almost out the door when Champ speaks again.  
  
“I expect you in my office by eight tonight. I do have a task for you. Bring what I’m having sent to your quarters.”  
  
There’s a long pause but Champ doesn’t look up from the file in front of him.  
  
At last, Tequila speaks in a voice that’s entirely too small for a man his size. “Yes, Sir.  
  
  
*  
  
  
It’s a quarter past eight when Tequila knocks on Champ’s door.  
  
“So you’ve picked up the tardiness from the Galahads,” Champ comments when Tequila enters the office.  
  
“Sorry, Sir. Been talking to Vodka about his new mission and we got a little carried away.”  
  
“Sit down, son.” Champ motions for him to take the seat on the other side of his desk. “Did you bring what I sent you?”  
  
Tequila pulls the items from the cardboard box they had been sent in to his room in the medical wing. “This is a coloring book, Sir. And colored pencils.”  
  
“That they are. And that’s what you’re going to do. You’ll color.”  
  
“With all due respect, Sir, but… are you out of your mind?”  
  
“I will be if you keep tapping the goddamn Flight of the Bumblebee on the desk every time we have a conference call. You gotta learn how to control yourself, to fight against your addiction.”  
  
Tequila snorts. “By doing ‘connect the dots’?”  
  
“By sitting your ass down with that book and you’re not leaving til you got a page done. And you’ll do decent job, no coloring outside the lines, no smudges. Gotta look pretty when you’re done.”  
  
“You cannot be serious.”  
  
Champ fixes him with a level look. He can practically see the cogs turning the young man’s head which is just what he was aiming for. “Deadly.” He points at the clear space in Tequila’s side of his desk. “Better start now. I don’t want to be here all night.”  
  
With a bit of a petulant pout, Tequila tosses the book on the table and flips open the first page. To his chagrin and Champ’s amusement, it’s a delicate image of a Japanese pagoda, a dragon swirling in the background and flowers framing the foreground. An insane amount of intricate detail.  
  
“I can’t do that.” Tequila drops the colored pencils back into the box.  
  
“You can,” Champ correct him, no heat in his voice. “And you will.”  
  
What follows is a bit of a staring match which Tequila has lost before it has even started. It’s not so much the fact that Champ is his superior and a good twenty years his senior. It’s about power and nothing else.  
  
Grumbling something under his breath - Champ will let it go just this once - Tequila picks up the pens again, draws out a green pencil and sets to work.  
  
Champ watches the boy intently as he gets on with the task. Granted, the motive is... not beginner friendly, to say the least, especially for someone who's more of a "shoot first, ask questions later"-kind of guy. But Tequila tries. He really does.  
  
Brow furrowed in concentration, he tries to keep the pencil within the lines, filling in section after section of the picture. He chooses his colors deliberately and - dare anyone say it aloud - has actually a good eye for it. However, the artistry is not the main achievement. As Tequila goes about his work, he gradually calms down. His knee only bounces every once in a while, and with his hands occupied, he finally stops fidgeting.  
  
It’s closing in on midnight when Tequila finally puts his pen down and pushes the book away from him with a touch of defiance that seems little faux.  
  
“All done,” he says, leaning back, and crosses his arms over his chest.  
  
“Let me see that, son.” Champ holds out a hand.  
  
He makes a show of examining Tequila’s handiwork if only to make the young man squirm a little.  
  
“I like it,” is his monosyllabic comment.  
  
“Can I go now?”  
  
Champ looks at him for a long moment, then nods with a pleased little smile. “You’re dismissed.”  
  
Without another word, Tequila rises and all but bolts for the door. Handle in hand, he stops and glances over his shoulder. “Can I come back tomorrow? Maybe do another?”  
  
“‘Course, son.”  
  
Tequila nods. “The red needs sharpening.”  
  
Champ crack into a full-fledged grin. “I’ll have it done. Good night, son.”  
  
“Good night, Sir.”

  



End file.
